


Of You

by LisaDuncansTwin



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Song Inspired, Written in 2000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 01:46:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LisaDuncansTwin/pseuds/LisaDuncansTwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim faces the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of You

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and betaed in 2000, left unaltered. Diana did a fab beta job and then I went and did stuff all alone. Any mistakes are mine, don't feed them without permission! :) No copyright infringement intended with the use of the guys or of the song. I'll never make money doing this, so don't bother suing! Story inspired by a song, lyrics included at the bottom.

It was a morning just like a thousand others, the only notable changes were the degree of stiffness in his bones and the amount of sunlight it took to wake him; both were growing with age, but at much differing speeds.

He sat on the edge of the bed, contemplating the day ahead. The frequency with which people were committing crimes grew exponentially as the disregard and lack of compassion disintegrated around him. The world was no longer the land of plenty and bounty; it was a harsh, cold place where people huddled together and eeked out a meager living, hoping with every dawning day that some warmth, some happiness would come their way and be the salvation they dreamed of every night behind their dead bolts and intruder alarms. 

This morning, Jim Ellison would go to work, as he did nearly every day, and hope that some humanity could be found or salvaged in between the murders and rapes. He just needed that one small ray of hope to make it all seem worthwhile. Just one tiny thing. 

His shower was tepid and his breakfast cold, but his immediate needs were taken care of in his usual efficient way. Reverently, he examined his weapon, trusting in it to protect his very life if the need arose. He clipped it to his belt, pocketed his wallet and spare change, grabbed his jacket and keys and closed the door behind him. 

Another day, another dollar. 

* * *

Paperwork was the bane of every cop's existence, Jim's included. Everything had to be filled out in triplicate, signed and dated, and approved before a case was truly closed. Of course, there were the inevitable inconsistencies that police captains and prosecutors haggled over with each case, and this morning was no exception. 

Jim and Simon spent most of the morning clarifying details of the upcoming Jackson trial with the new assistant district attorney, Sara Walker. Walker had a reputation as a hard assed attorney who took no prisoners, just made the men and women she prosecuted into them. She didn't believe in deals unless she knew she was getting the better bargain, and she believed in the death penalty with extreme malice. Her nickname around the station was Barracuda. Very fitting. 

When lunch time came, Jim managed to escape the madness of the station house and even enjoy the brief appearance spring was making in normally wet and cold Cascade. It was still cool enough to need a jacket, but the warmth of the sun helped heat up the Sentinel on the inside too. It lifted his spirits--until the inevitable clouds rolled back into his day. 

As he was returning to the station, he spotted a robbery in progress and attempted to bring it to an abrupt ending, but the perp had other plans. Following the fleeing man on foot, Jim called on his reserves, his stamina, to chase the younger man. With every beat of his heart, he gradually gained on the suspect and eventually brought him down. It was only after he had slapped the cuffs on the criminal that Jim noticed it was raining and that he was soaked to the core. 

Back at the station, he was able to change out of his soaking sweater into a t-shirt from his gym bag, but he could do nothing about his damp jeans. He'd just have to suffer through. 

Paperwork on the latest case kept him inside and behind his desk for the rest of the afternoon. When it was finally time to go home, he shut down his computer and neatly stacked his files, then grabbed his jacket and headed to the elevator. 

Another day done. One less criminal on the streets. 

* * *

Jim drove home in silence, preferring the soft hum of the motor to the monotonous drone of the radio, letting it relax him. His thoughts drifted to the loft, the peace he found there, the soothing calm that came over him the moment he stepped inside. Needing that more than ever, he applied additional pressure to the gas pedal. 

Luck was with him as he found a great parking space right in front of his building. Smiling, he closed the truck door firmly behind him. He was almost home. 

Stopping to check the mail, all junk, he happily tossed it into the trash can. It seemed like the closer he got to home, the better his day was getting. The elevator was waiting for him, so he happily stepped in and rode the short distance, whistling softly. 

His keys jingled pleasantly as he unlocked the door and went inside. Turning to close the door, he paused for a brief second, sensing something askew, but before he could determine what it was, he was attacked. 

He was swiftly and forcefully slammed against the door, quite a feat for his smaller attacker. It probably would have been all but impossible, except for the fact that Jim knew the person accosting him. 

Submitting to Blair Sandburg was a pleasure, plain and simple. While outside the home, Jim was the one in charge, the one who made the decisions and called all the shots. Inside their home, Blair ruled with quiet authority, and Jim deferred to him at every turn. It may not have been the most politically correct situation, even for a gay household, but it worked for them. 

Shocked back to reality, Jim felt confident hands skim down his body. They halted only a moment at his waist band before it was unbuttoned and his pants unzipped. Blair didn't waste time by removing them totally, he simply shoved them down as far as was necessary to release Jim's semi-erect cock. 

Jim leaned back against the door and let it support his weight as he relaxed into the sheer pleasure. His eyes drifted shut as Blair slowly stroked his hardening length. Blair's hands felt so good on him. 

Jim heard Blair's tongue rasp across his lips, then shuddered as the same tongue began flicked across the head of his cock. Before he could catch his breath, his cock was being sucked strongly, Blair's hand stroking in the same rhythm. He felt Blair slow his actions and opened his sky blue eyes to look at his lover. 

Breathlessly, Jim watched as the tip of Blair's hot, pink tongue snaked out to sample the first bead of Jim's precious juice. Involuntarily his hips surged forward, seeking the heat and pleasure he knew awaited him, but the younger man held him firmly in place, loving the tip of Jim's aching cock with his tongue and lips. 

Jim groaned in frustration, needing so much more, and finally, blessedly, Blair gave it to him. Opening his mouth widely, Blair let the tormented shaft slip between his lips, further and further inside until Jim's balls hit his chin. 

Slowly, Blair shifted Jim's hips with his hands, mimicking a slow fucking motion, and Jim was only too happy to comply. Moving his hips gently back and forth, Jim let his drift shut again, and gave himself over to the passion coursing through his veins. 

Blair's mouth was an inferno; it ignited fire after fire along Jim's nerve endings until all Jim could see was red, all he could feel was heat, all he could hear was his heartbeat, all he could smell was his desire, all he could taste was the anticipation of his approaching orgasm. 

Time stopped as his whole body seized up, the crest of the orgasm within his grasp. And blissfully, he came, trembling so hard that his legs shook under the pleasurable assault. 

When Jim finally came back to himself, he wasn't surprised to find Blair's concerned blue eyes watching him. 

"Hey You," Jim said, his voice was rough and ragged. 

"Hey _You_." 

Blair took Jim's clenched right hand and pried open his fingers; Jim's keys fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Tenderly, Blair massaged the abused hand, the imprint of the keys a deep, silent testimony to how truly compelling it was to be loved by Blair Sandburg. 

* * *

Eventually, Jim took a shower, and they sat down to a simple home cooked dinner. An outsider may have mistaken their silence for any number of things, from unhappiness to boredom, but it was neither. Jim and Blair were getting back in sync, each soothing the other with the mere fact of being together. 

The talking came later, sitting on the couch, surrounded by candlelight, in their favorite sweats. Their knees were the only parts of their bodies that touched, and it was reassuring and solid and right. While a large part of their conversation was aloud, even more was said with looks and actions. Listening and sympathizing and just being there...all were felt more deeply and appreciated more sincerely than any overt act would be. 

Still later, they climbed the stairs to their bed, holding hands now, again in silence. Turning to face one another, their lips met in a sweet, slow kiss. They undressed and stood close, naked lengths pressed together, fingertips touching, ready to explore and pleasure, but needing one final thing, one final act before continuing on their sensuous journey. 

"Hey You," one whispered. 

"Hey You," the other answered. 

In a world where the word 'love' was tossed around carelessly to refer to everything from kitty litter to shampoo, and where two men had been hurt more than once in its name, they had never said it to each other. They had never spoke that one word. They chose instead to state simply and clearly their choice. One word that proclaimed loudly just exactly who Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg chose to be with. And it was always You. And it would always be You. Forever. Hey You. 

The end. 

Home to You by John Michael Montgomery 

I get up and battle the day  
Things don't always go my way  
It might rain but that's okay  
I get to come home to you 

Sometimes life my get me down  
I get tired of getting kicked around  
I feel lost in this maddening crowd  
But I get to come home to you 

'Cause you are my best friend  
And you are where my heart is  
And I know at the day's end  
I get to come home to you 

Hanging out in our old sweatshirts  
You let me complain about a hard day's work  
I don't know what I did to deserve to get  
To come home to you 

'Cause you are my best friend  
And you are where my heart is  
And I know at the day's end  
I get to come home to you  
Oh I love coming home to you 

* * *


End file.
